Tenebrae
by Shinigami Songs
Summary: Emberley isn't normal. For starters, she's the daughter of one of Voldemort's most notorious followers. Secondly, she's got a dangerous capacity for dark magic, stemming from another, even more dangerous, part of her heritage...
1. Chapter 1 - Unexpected

_"It'll be better here. Safer. Don't you want to be normal?"_

Hell, no. A normal wizard, yes. But stuck in the damned _muggle _world, cut off from the one I belonged in?

Hell, no.

He'd taken my wand, and with it, my past and future.

Damn her cousin. Damn him to Hell

The streetlights snapped off. I glanced at my clock. Bit early for that. No matter. Probably different here. After all, it was only my second week.

The second week in my eighth foster home.

_"You're lucky, dear. We usually can't find people willing to take in… erm…"_

_"Problem children."_

_"No. That's not what I was going to say."_

_"Actually, yes, it was. Because that's what's been on all of the forms. You seriously think I haven't seen them? Overheard the discussions?_

A knock on the front door. _The Hell? _Raised voices. Snippets of conversation. Tensions running uncomfortably high.

"No… Time of night… Tempted… Call… Police!" The mother. Mother 8 of 8. A "Mrs. Smith." So generic. Like all the others, it would be forgotten, eventually. I remembered the first. The beginning of the second. A Newert. Then something that had started with an L. "Call me 'Mom'," they all said. "Mrs.' sounds so formal." But I never did. As far as I was concerned, I had only one mother, and she was the only one worth remembering.

Not that she'd been a particularly _good _mother. No, no, she'd been horrendous, as far as I could remember. I couldn't remember much, but what I did was awful. I'd been born, been raised, for one purpose, and my mother had been conditioning me for that. Whether my mother had raised me well or not, however, was irrelevant. What mattered was that she was my kin, and that created a tie between us, be it one of silk or razor wire.

There was a quieter voice now, one that I couldn't quite make out. It was calmer, and though Number 8 would pipe up every once in a while with a fresh outburst of indignation, those became more and more feeble. Finally, there was a knock at my bedroom door.

Opening it, I was greeted with exactly the sight I had been expecting. Or, was it? Number 7, who had been coming to my door for the last 5 months, had been a kindly woman; short, squat, and pale; not exactly someone you'd expect to see in a magazine. 8, on the other hand, looked like she belonged on the cover of _People. _Or _Cosmo. _Or _Playboy, _for that matter. Acted like it, too. Seemed to think I wanted some part in that lifestyle, too. Flyers for pageants left sitting on the counter, a 'welcome gift' of pale foundation, eye shadow, eyeliner, and other such things to make me look 'pretty.' Almost out of spite, I'd taken to wearing it dark, like I belonged in some sort of 80's punk rock band. Even now, Number 8's mouth turned downward a bit in a poorly hidden frown.

"Take some of that off, dear." Number 8 said. "Someone's here to see you."

I brushed past the taller woman, and took the stairs in twos.

There was a man at the front door. One so odd, bizarre, in appearance that I stopped a moment, a strange mixture of amusement and bemusement sparking in my mind, Who on Earth would grow their beard that long, save for someone looking for a position in the Guinness Book of Records. Ah, how the muggles loved their records. The thing was though, this fellow didn't look like a muggle at all. If he hadn't been standing in my doorway, in one of the most muggle-esque of muggle villiages….

No, surely a wizard would not have been standing here.

"Hello, Miss Smith."

"I'm not Miss Smith." 8 flinched a bit, like she'd been poked with a needle. I smirked.

"Oh? Which surname do you prefer, Emberley?"

My head whipped up. "_How the hell do you know my name?"_

"Tsk tsk. Language, Miss…" He looked at me for a moment, thinking. "Lestrange, perhaps?"

"Shut the hell up." I could feel it. My own anger, spiralling to dangerous levels. The lights flickered a bit. 8, I noticed, was quivering slightly. I rounded on her.

"Scared, Miss _Smith? _Scared of your demon child? He's told you, hasn't he?" I turned back to the old man. "Well? Haven't you?"

He sighed. "Not that much, I hadn't. Though I do reckon that I might have to now. Unless you'd prefer to have your memory modified?" 8, who the last comment was directed at, yelped like a small dog being stepped on. She shook her head rapidly.

"Good," the man said. He clucked his tongue. "I quite dislike memory modifications. Has always seemed a bit unfair, really. Now, I am rather parched. Perhaps we should have a cup of tea and discuss things. Mrs. Smith, lead the way."

"You didn't answer me," I growled. "How, exactly, did you know my name?"

"Because your name has been on my list of students since the day you were born." He looked at me, obviously noting my skepticism. "Yes, Emberley, despite your heritage."

"What students? You work for _him? _You coming back for me after all this time, after all the effort, which I am oh so freaking grateful for, that my cousin –"

"Second cousin."

"Well, yes technically. That my _second _cousin took to hide me?"

A chuckle. "No, Emberley, not at all. You see, I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Hogwarts? Haven't heard of it."

"I expect not, having been raised as you were. Wouldn't have wanted you knowing of a far more reputable establishment for refining your skills than your mother's basement. Might've planted rebellious ideas in your mind. No, no, that wouldn't have done at all. However, the opportunity is here now."

"And if I don't accept?"

"Oh, but you will."

"And why is that?"

"It is because I, Emberley, have your wand."

** A/N **

_And thus endeth Chapter One of my first fanfic in... erm... probably more than a year. And that was on a different account which was left to rot. *Forcefully suppresses memory* Anyhow, if you wish to laud or lament my writing talent, or lack thereof, feel free to leave a review. :)_


	2. Chapter 2 - Ambiguous

13 inches.

Birch.

Fairly firm, with a small amount of give.

Core filled with the breath of a dementor, a small line of runic writing circling the center of its length. It was to seal some of my power, prevent it from raging out of control. Maybe if it had been filled with something else, anything else, it wouldn't have been necessary. But a wand chooses its wielder.

One of the runes was faded, its etching shallower than the rest. Even now, I ran her finger over it absently. It sent a small spark through the digit each time, both bringing forward and numbing the pain of that old wound. It was like a scar, being ripped open and mending itself over and over and over.

The Sorting Hat sat on a stool facing us, the first-years. Ugly thing, really. 8 would have tossed it away ages ago, replaced it with something new, something _chic, _as she would say. I cringed just thinking about it. Then again, 8 wouldn't have owned such a bizarre hat anyways. One that positively oozed the essence of magic. Hell, it had even sung a song.

Then again, there was something comforting about seeing something worn, something used, something obviously well-loved in its day. And not well-loved in the sense that every speck of dirt had to be removed, its location bleached and scrubbed, bleached and scrubbed. No, this was well loved in that it was used, and wear and tear was just a sign of affection.

Professor McGonnagal was reading names off of a roll of parchment. A to Z. That, evidently, didn't change in the wizarding world. It almost seemed like it should be more exciting. But, then again, reading off names rarely was.

Finally, it was my turn. Last name, then first.

"Le…" McGonnagal trailed off, casting me a strange look. I did my best not to sneer back, but obviously didn't quite succeed, because I was given a reprimanding glare before the old witch's eyes returned to her parchment. "Emberley."

A tall, blonde boy next to me muttered to another, thick and hulking. _"Just Emberley?" _He glanced at me as I strode forward, and I could swear I'd heard a noise of approval from behind me. I suppressed another shudder.

I sat on the stool. I knew I was getting odd looks. I was a special case. I was a year behind. Dumbledore had explained why. Having been so thoroughly (or so he thought) integrated into the muggle world after having such a traumatic past, he thought it best if I was given a year to 'grow up' a bit. Bullshit.

The sorting hat had to be forced down onto my head. My thick black hair – hereditary, apparently, and also fitting my previously mentioned 'look' – made it difficult for it to sit well. I managed, however, after a slight struggle, leaving me with a sliver of vision beneath its brim.

"Well, well." The voice came from all around my head, and, somehow, inside it. It was slightly unnerving, to say the least. "You are quite a puzzle, aren't you? It's really a three-way debate."

_Three way? _I thought, and obviously it heard me, because it replied, "Yes, three-way. You heard my song, did you not?"

_Obviously._

"Ah, yes. That attitude, as well as several other things, are why you would definitely not belong in Hufflepuff. No, no, not at all. That leaves three: Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw. See, you have the darkness and talent for dark magic that would pull you towards Slytherin, but not the ambition. And ambition is what makes a Slyhterin, is it not? You have the bravery, perhaps, for Gryffindor, but the darkness within you would draw you away from your housemates. And surely you have the intelligence needed for Ravenclaw – that, my dear, is a fact – but you do not strike me as one to invest much time in using and strengthening it. And I do not mean that to be in any way insulting."

_Please. I just don't want to stand out._

"That, I am afraid, will not be the case, no matter the house. Ah, yes, this really is a toss up. I suppose, then we shall have to do this the… well… unprofessional way."

_Unprofessional?_

"Yes, unprofessional. Emberley Lestrange, if you would pick a number from one to three…"

** A/N **

_So, this chapter is relatively short. Most of them will be, but I hope to get one out daily. Well, I say that now...  
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	3. Chapter 3 - Genesis

I picked three.

Now I was glaring at the two girls huddled in the corner, whispering furiously. They'd been doing that ever since introducing themselves as Parvati and Lavender, giggling, and darting off. I almost wished McGonnagal had just said my last name instead of creating intrigue by not doing so. Maybe people would leave me alone that way.

"Hello." I turned around, fully prepared for more giggling. I was pleasantly surprised by a lack thereof.

"I'm Hermione Granger. You?"

"Emberley."

"Just Emberley?"

"No. But that's all you need to know."

"Oh." She looked a bit taken aback. "Well, no need to be rude, right?" God, she was starting to piss me off. "Anyways, I figured that if we're going to be in the same house for the next seven years, we might as well get to know to know each other."

"You don't 'get to know' anything about me."

"Fine then," she turned, walked away, and introduced herself to the two in the corner much as she had to me. They'd get along well. Annoying people tended to. Then again, they were two very different types of annoying.

Gryffindor. House of the brave. Place where I really only partially belonged. Great. Sounded like a bright and happy future for me. Bright and happy. Yeah, right.

No, I wasn't being pessimistic. I was being realistic.

I was fine with not getting along with the others. I hadn't come to Hogwarts to make friends. I'd survived most of my life without them. In my experience, they just got in the way. It wasn't some tragic backstory thing, like others betraying me or feeling left out. No, they were nosy and got in the way. They were irritating. That was it.

Eventually, everyone tired of introductions. Even Miss Granger. The grounds below the windows were no longer visible, save for dim outlines barely visible in the light emanating from within the castle. Even those light sources, however, were going out one by one. I wondered why they didn't put them all out at once. Maybe it was soothing. Maybe it was something to help lull the students to sleep.

It was while pondering this that I… That I… Didn't sleep.

Because, really, I never do.

I wasn't normal.

Not just "I had an odd personality," or "my dress sense was a little strange." While the last point _was _true, it wasn't the sole reason for my lack of normalcy. No, the reason for that was my heritage. Each and every aspect of it.

First off was my mother. Bellatrix Lestrange. Renowned dark wizard, follower of the Dark Lord, now 'safely' in Azkaban. That last incident was the inciting factor for my dramatic and rather rushed removal from the wizarding world. I suppose the theory was that I would be in some sort of danger because of it.

Most are familiar with Bellatrix's second husband, Rudolphus – yes, second – who is currently in Azkaban with her. There was one before him. That was my father. The thing was, he was a Mudblood. However, he was foreign, and Bellatrix, severely lacking in the knowledge of foreign wizarding families, fell hopelessly in love. Well, whether she was in love or not was debatable. I'm not sure the hag ever felt anything close to it.

It was the Dark Lord who found out. Oh, he was furious. He summoned dementors to him, and sent them to take my father's soul. My mother was torn between her loyalty to the Dark Lord and that which belonged to her husband. I'm not sure whether it was a decision out of loyalty or cowardice, but she chose the Dark Lord. However, loyalty would not be enough to redeem her.

There would have to be a child.

When a dementor takes someone's soul, they do not do so without leaving a piece of themselves behind. It is not a large piece, but, like a fragment of a Philosopher's Stone, still holds great magic power. And I, child of a witch and a soulless warlock, came into being with that dark piece of magic in me.

Like I said, I am not normal. I would _love _to be. But I'm not.

** A/N **

_When I expressed doubt as to whether I'd be uploading a chapter a day, I was thinking more along the lines of 'going several days without an upload' than 'uploading multiple chapters within less than 12 hours.' Ah, well. The more the merrier.  
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_Also, I want to say a special thanks to my best friend, whose house I wrote the first three chapters at. She is my editor and source of many great ideas. She's not currently active on the site, but when she is, I will link her profile in a future Author's Note.  
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_Finally, I'd like to note that I have nothing at all against Hermione. In fact, I quite like her character. I just don't think the my character would get along well with her. Also, she is portrayed as being rather irritating in the beginning of the first book. _


	4. Chapter 4 - Machiavellian

The potions classroom was dimly lit and dank, and I briefly wondered how many of our ingredients were harvested from moldy corners. Our professor, a "Professor Snape" as he drawled, was pale and greasy. I was certain he'd never been kissed. Any woman would have been scared of that hook nose taking out an eye.

Or man. But he didn't seem the type.

It was Friday. Double Potions. Two hours spent in the dark with that blonde idiot's – ahem. Draco Malfoy's – house. I far preferred the environment to the company.

There was, of course, a roll call. Snape scanned the list, face expressionless. A flicker of amusement, however, did flicker over his face when he came to my name.

"Ah, yes, Emberley. Your last name seems not to be listed here. Care to explain?"

I scowled. "Really not."

"Really not what, Emberley?"

"Really not, Sir," I said, an all-too familiar edge creeping into my voice. It was the one I usually got when I knew that I was about to get into trouble, and didn't particularly care. Not really a good habit, and probably part of the reason that I had been chucked from one home to the next during my time in the foster system. The professor tsked, but moved along.

Why? He sure gave Potter hell for a small amount of, possibly unintentional, sass. Why not me? There was something odd about this, something familiar about the slight mocking tone to his voice. I didn't like it. It sent shivers through my spine. I didn't know what memories I had that were associated with this man, but most of my vague memories regarding people and places were decidedly unpleasant. The feeling I got whenever he looked at me, like a thousand beetles crawling over my flesh, only made me even more sure of that.

We, contrary to my earlier guess, _were _given an assignment, despite it being our first class, which jolted me out of my disturbed thoughts. In fact, we'd had assignments in almost every one of our classes so far. I didn't mind. It was a simple assignment, really, just an antidote to boils. Well, it _would _have been simple, and I _wouldn't _have minded, if it hadn't been a pair exercise. Malfoy had insisted on working with me, and, as he was obviously Snape's favourite, he got his wish. I also had the sneaking suspicion that Snape was also doing it partially to spite me.

"Git," I muttered, as Malfoy focused on weighing dried nettles. I couldn't ignore his ability, though, how precise his movements and measurements were. He definitely had an opportunity for a future in the subject, if he felt so inclined. It wouldn't surprise me. I could just imagine him, brewing up poisons, malodorous draughts, love potions to-

"So," he said quietly to me as I vented my pent-up frustration on the snake fangs I was crushing. "Gryffindor, eh?" I ignored him. Instead, I looked with mild curiosity at the pudgy boy cautiously lifting a bundle of porcupine quills.

"Thought you would've been in Slytherin."

_No, take it off the fire first. _Off, _you idiot, off the bloody-_

"You know, considering your mother and all."

I whipped around to face him. "What-" I broke off, coughing, as acrid green steam filled the air, and the pudgy boy collapsed.

Draco stepped quickly between me and the steadily oozing flood of potion. The pudgy boy made horrendous sounds of pain, soaked in the noxious substance. Malfoy grabbed my shoulder and began steering me towards the door. "Perhaps we ought to find somewhere else to have this discussion…"

I grabbed his arm and twisted it violently behind his back. "Don't you _ever _touch me again!" I hissed. "And if you dare mention my mother, I'll-"

"You'll what, Lestrange?" he said, almost sounding bored. "Go crying to your daddy? Oh… wait… he's-"

"Shut the hell up!"

"Look," he said, throwing me off easily and grabbing my hand in a vice-like grip. "I'm the only student who knows about your dirty little secret. That is, _for now. _But if you, hmm… _upset _me, that could change very, very quickly."

"That's-"

"Blackmail? Yes. I know. Why bother pointing it out? It's horribly clichéd." He slowly released my hand, letting his fingers linger far too long on the backs of mine. I stepped back, turned, and made my way quickly towards the classroom's exit. Somewhere behind me, I could hear the professor berating Potter, but the words slipped past my ears, lost in a haze of panic.

_That could change… That could change…_

No. No, it couldn't. Wouldn't.

I would _not _let that happen.

Not again.

** A/N **

_Again, nothing against Draco. I just thought that it would be interesting to delve more into the more manipulative side of him. Also, I found it a bit odd that he never really had a long-term romantic interest in the series until the epilogue (though I could be wrong about that). _


	5. Chapter 5 - Volatile

I've never liked secrets.

So often, they're romanticized, made out to be something beautiful, alluring. They're not. A secret is like a lynching rope, just waiting for the floor to drop. After that, it's straight to hell for you.

My life was full of secrets. I had had secrets, and, in some cases, been a secret, since the day I was born. Sometimes, I felt like I was just storage for all the dirty little secrets that people had forced upon me. My mother. My wand. My magic. All of it. I was, in essence, the human embodiment of a secret.

I always felt trapped. Held back. And I always knew that I'd just _snap _one day. And, of course, I did.

It was 3rd grade. Most kids didn't have a care in the world. I, however, had more worries than the average 'grown-up'. And even though I was mature for my age, even though I knew exactly _why _my secrets had to stay secrets, I was still only eight. So I let one slip.

Hah. That's an understatement and a half.

It was towards the end of the year. I'd gotten through most of it fine. Sure, the teachers sometimes tried to make me socialize with my peers, and my grades weren't the best, but I had _survived. _And, for me, that was a much bigger accomplishment than you'd think.

The others, however, thought I was strange. A "weirdo." That was my label, my name when no one of authority was there to hear it. And though it was not a top-notch insult, at that age, it cut deep. And I got sick of it. One day, I decided that I'd had enough.

My intention was simply to hit the kid. The instigator. The ringleader. A kid named Alec. Just once. At the age of eight, that seemed punishment enough for the git. And hit him I did. However, I did not expect him to hit back.

The next thing I knew, it was a full out fist-fight. He had the upper hand, as I was a very small for my age, short and thin as a rail. And it made me angry. So angry. I simply lost control.

I had only wanted to hit him. I never thought I'd kill him.

My dementor blood strengthens me. However, no great strength comes without a cost. When I get angry, especially when I don't have my wand there to help bind my magic, it rages out of control. I become a monster, capable of stealing another human being's soul.

God, I didn't mean to kill him.

That was the one time that I saw wizards after being removed from my home. They wanted to take me away, lock me up. I was no more than an animal to them. But someone saved me. I don't remember who.

Who saved me?

I have so many gaps in my memory. It seems that the good stuff, the stuff that people have done for me, to help me, the memories of that have disappeared. But the bad stuff…

I can still picture his face perfectly. Pure terror. If you think you've seen fear, you haven't. No. True fear comes with the feeling of your soul being ripped from your body. It must have been painful, because I remember screams, too. Shrill, loud, then dying off, getting quieter, quieter…

Then silence. Which is worse, really. Because it drives home what you've done.

What I'd done.

And I couldn't let that happen again.

I would not let my secrets bring about more tragedy.

I was snapped out of my reverie by footsteps. I was leaning against the corridor wall, breathing hard. Malfoy saw me and grinned, and I knew that he knew exactly what kind of situation he had put me in.

I wanted to kill him.

But that would, in a way, be admitting defeat, wouldn't it?

** A/N **

_Gah, I wrote this while very, very sick. I'm recovering now, but am still tired. Nonetheless, I felt that I should put this up, being a couple days late updating._


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